


Go Get Your Mage

by teamfreehoodies



Series: i don't want to act like we're dead and done [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Dangerous Flirting, Episode: s01e01 The End's Beginning, F/F, Fix-It, Prompt Fic, Renfri | Shrike Deserves Better (The Witcher), Yennefer is a Beer-Snob, they’re lesbians your honour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26448553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreehoodies/pseuds/teamfreehoodies
Summary: When Yennefer portals into Blaviken instead of Geralt, a more... mutually beneficial arrangement is made.AKA Yennefer and Renfri flirt, attempt a quick murder, flirt some more, and then plot to kill the Stregobitch.
Relationships: Renfri | Shrike/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: i don't want to act like we're dead and done [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922632
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72
Collections: w_l_w





	Go Get Your Mage

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this lovely ask from anon:  
> "I'm two days late with a fic prompt sorry lol but I could not get this idea out of my head so, if you're still up for it: what if Witcher AU where it's Yennefer who meets Renfri at Blaviken instead of Geralt <3 Love your fics"
> 
> Lesbians Abound!  
> Work Title bastardized from Go Get Your Gun, by The Dear Hunter  
> 

Yennefer hasn’t been to the coast in years, and she wouldn’t be here under normal circumstances, but she was…. desperate. Rumor had it that there might be a djinn for sale in their market soon, which meant either someone had found one, or at the very least there was djinn activity in the area and someone felt justified that they _could_ find one and for a dirty little place in the backwoods just off the coast it did seem to have something… off about it. She’d portaled to a field just outside the city, a place that should have been empty of magic entirely except for what she brought with her. And yet… something was different about this town. The air felt heavy with it, a stagnant weight hovering over the people, and as she approached the city’s gates it became more and more apparent that something was deeply wrong with this city. Where there should have been children playing games in the street there were only beggars, staring listlessly forward as they huddled against walls for warmth, a stark indicator of a bad fishing season in a town like this. Where there should have been a bustling market, there was only filth and starving dogs, dead-eyed children huddled in alleyways, townspeople skirting around the beggars and the children and the dogs like if they even acknowledged their existence they'd be dragged down into the muck as well.

But there had been no pleas to the Brotherhood to take care of their ills, no appeal to the mages to find the fish, to feed the fishermen, to save the town. Yennefer had left court, but she still keeps a few fingers in, just enough to know what's going on the world, and none of them had said anything of a town under famine. She kept moving, ignoring the damp dreariness that pulled at her heart. Maybe it wasn’t famine, and Blaviken simply had an unusually large amount of serfs with no fields to tend, and the heavy atmosphere was just caused by the concentrated misery of so many people packed so closely together.

She would get no answers on the street, so she ducked into the first tavern she saw, shaking off the strange heaviness of emotion from staring at the misery in the streets of this thrice-cursed backwater. The tavern at least was decent enough, a good crowd for this time of day, early as it still was. She wound her way to the bar, aiming for a beer and a chance to collect her thoughts. She might find someone in here who could tell her of the fishing spots suddenly gone bare— that might be a good indication of djinn activity actually, now that she could spare a moment to think about it.

The bartender slid her a cup and filled it before turning away with a grunt as he picked up the coin she left on the table. The beer was cold— but that was were the positives ended. “What the fuck,” she muttered spitting the ale back into its cup— she’d tasted piss-water more palatable than this swill.

“It’s an acquired taste but I promise, it’s not poison.” Yennefer looked down the bar, tracking down the owner of the offered opinion. _Oh, but she was_ gorgeous, her hair an asymmetrical mess framing her rounded cheeks, lashes long enough to make the brown of her eyes look bottomless, her mouth curled with just the right amount of attitude as she smirked at Yennefer.

“I’d almost prefer if it _was_ poison,” Yennefer replied, sliding closer down the bar and dragging the piss-water with her. “At least then the taste would have an explanation.” The woman laughed, cracking more peanuts from the bar, and popping them into her open mouth. She smiled at Yennefer, leaning back in her seat as she made a short gesture at the barkeep.

“You’ve a lot of experience with poisons then?” She asked, turning the full force of her attention on Yennefer.

“Enough to never accept a drink I didn’t order myself,” Yennefer countered, smirking as the barkeep plunked two wine cups in front of them.

“Well that’s a shame then, isn’t it.” The woman said, reaching across Yennefer to drag the cup away before the barkeep could pour anything into it.

Yennefer caught her hand against the bottom rim of the cup, feeling the warmth of her rough hands (and gods she wanted those hands against her skin so suddenly she was surprised by the force of her desire.) "It’s only a shame if we let it be,” she purred, rubbing her thumb along the index finger of the woman’s hand still trapped beneath her own.

The barkeep cleared his throat, breaking them apart as he gestured impatiently with the wine bottle. “Am I pouring this or not,” he asked gruffly, “I’ve got other customers, y’know.”

The woman giggled, than guffawed, a hearty laugh that was more wild and free than any like who Yennefer spent most of her time around— instantly, she was hooked. Yennefer wanted more of that laugh, wanted some of that wild freedom for herself.

“There’s better drinks at my place,” Yennefer offered, aching to reach back out and touch, needing the heat of the other woman’s skin to balance against the chill of her own.

“Are you seducing me?” the woman asked, smirking slyly at Yennefer from behind a lock of her hair, fallen artfully over one eye. Yennefer hadn't felt this dangerously attracted to anyone in years; the immediacy of her desire was astounding.

“Only if you’re interested in being seduced,” Yennefer leaned in closer, not touching, just letting her proximity work for her. They were facing each other still and as Yennefer leaned in the woman did too, almost imperceptibly, until Yennefer stopped, just close enough that their conversation was a touch too intimate for public (but _oh_ , that had never bothered Yennefer one little bit, and in fact it added to the heat in her belly, the tension between her thighs that demanded release.) “Is it working?” she whispered finally, her breath just ghosting over the other woman’s lips.

("Fuck off,” muttered the barkeep as he plunked the wine down on the counter and stalked towards his other customers. He had things to do other than staring at flirting lesbians.)

“Why don’t we go get that wine.” The woman whispered, sending shivers down Yennefer’s spine. Delicious anticipation was thrumming through her veins and it made her sloppy—she almost missed the knife as it hurtled up to rest beneath her chin.

“I’m not really into knifeplay as a rule,” she said, one hand holding back the woman’s where it was trying to push a silver blade into her throat, the other pressed into the base of the woman’s neck, her thumb resting just above the dip in her clavicle— ready to push and choke if this couldn't be resolved quickly. "But I suppose there's always an exception."

“Yeah well, you can tell that to Stregobor when he joins you in hell then can’t you.” The woman said, nonsensically, still straining against Yennefer's hold, trying to shove the knife into her neck.

“Stregobor?” Yennefer repeated, mind trying desperately to connect the pieces.

“He sent you to kill me before I could kill him. Why else would a mage be in Blaviken?” The woman scoffed and Yennefer realized that the reason no one had intervened was because the entire tavern was being held hostage by men in line with this woman, a collection of dwarves and halflings with swords and crossbows, the sorriest looking army that Yennefer had ever seen. Yennefer’s grip slipped slightly and the knife slid another centimeter closer to her throat and with the piercing clarity of an imminent threat to her life, she suddenly understood what was wrong about this damn town.

“Cock.” She said, staring into the eyes of the last girl born under the Black Sun, Renfri, Princess of Creyden, sworn hunter of Stregobor the Mage and something of a local legend amongst Yennefer’s circle of influence, precisely for her vendetta against the man. They all hated Stregobor. For all that he’d been officially censured for his slaughter of the girls of the Black Sun prophecy, not enough actual justice had been meted out to satisfy the little girl in Yennefer's heart who still believed that evil should be punished forthright. Prophecy work had been falling out of fashion ever since— not that that knowledge did her any good, a knife to her throat and a furious shrike holding it.

“I’m not here on business of Stegobor’s,” Yennefer offered, pulling on Chaos just enough to give her a fighting chance, pooling more strength in her body. She pushed the hand with the knife against her throat sharply upwards, a fast enough strike that it stunned Renfri, knocking the weapon from her hand, though not for long as she was already reaching for a new one— but Yennefer had space, had time— had purpose, and that was all a mage really needed.

“I bet you want him dead, right?” She said, holding up her hands to try and ward off Renfri’s continued advances (and also to make portalling away faster if need be.) Renfri paused, cocking her head at Yennefer. Emboldened, she went on, “I don’t have any particular feelings about the man, but I bet even you can’t hope to succeed against him alone.” Renfri, according to legend, wasn’t the sort of shrike that waited. To find her in a tavern in Blaviken meant Stregobor must be close, and must be hiding if he hadn’t yet been killed. “Ahh, that’s it isn’t is,” she said, as Renfri slowly let her go, flipping the knife in a (devastatingly hot) show of skill before she slipped it back in to the sheath on her thigh. _Oh_ , if this worked out the way Yennefer wanted it to, they were going to have a fucking _amazing_ time together. “You can’t get to him. What has he locked himself into a tower somewhere? Magicked up some guard dogs I imagine?” She took her seat, reaching for the bottle of wine the barkeep must have left for them, pouring equal measures into the two cups. 

Renfri must have made some motion behind Yennefer’s back (it wasn’t much of a gamble to turn her back on this opponent, sure as Yennefer was of her purpose here, but enough of one that a little shiver of pleasure ran up her spine at the implied danger) because the dwarves and halflings were putting down weapons, retreating to the table they’d been occupying before they took the tavern hostage. There was some grumbling from the patronage, but violence seemed to be the language of these people, so it settled quickly, just in time for Renfri to take her seat again, reaching forward to grab the wine that Yennefer had poured for her. “He’s locked himself in his tower,” she said, taking a sip of the wine and letting her knee bump into Yennefer’s thigh beneath the bartop. “Can’t get him out to face me in a fair fight, which he knows he’d lose.” Now that Yennefer was paying attention she could feel the slight disturbance in Chaos as it bent away from Renfri, refusing to touch. Interesting. “So tomorrow me and my men are going to murder every single person in the market until he crawls down from his ivory tower and faces his destiny at the end of my sword.” She’s puffed up already, like she expects Yennefer to object to this plan. The massive planned loss of life bothers Yennefer on a surface level surely, as unnecessary as it is. There are easier ways to pull Stregobor from his hiding place— more elegant too.

“What if I told you that I could pull him out of that tower without having to sacrifice the townspeople of Blaviken?” 

“I’d ask you for what price. I know mages and witchers are alike in that they only work for coin or power.” 

Yennefer smiled, taking a long draught of the wine and then slamming the empty cup back on the bartop. “I want everything, little shrike. But this?” she said, spreading her arms wide, “this I’ll do just because Stregobor deserved more than a slap on the wrist for his actions and I can think of no more fitting end than to watch you butcher him in the streets of Blaviken.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is another little short one just in between my future projects. I'm currently working on a RDR2fusioun fic when I'm not being overworked by my school haha (srsly pls be kind to your teachers through this guys, we be out here struggling) But I'm in love with this, so consider it part one of a Yennfri series of oneshots. Send me prompts over on my tumblr! (link in bio and also i'm teamfreehoodies there as well)


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